RTGO: Genetic Acquisition
by saathiray
Summary: Who is the greatest of them all, GeneCo or the Union? THE FREE MARKET SHALL DECIDE! Capitalism! Subprime mortgages! And the bizarre cast you know so well.
1. In Rotti's Office

UNION TO EXPAND OVERSEAS

New Artiforg Technology Hits US

In the comfort of his retreat at the top of the company's headquarters, GeneCo's founder read the morning news through narrowed eyes. His usual breakfast of peaches, poached eggs, and brown rice patiently on his desk, waiting for him. As was his routine, he had locked the doors to his office and kept out the guards for some true solitude. The time blinked on his tablet, telling him that he still had a half-hour before his children crawl over to GeneCo and began their daily rounds of pestering him for one thing or another. He was happiest when alone, and now he couldn't even enjoy that with the stories in the morning paper.

When the national deficit spiraled into oblivion and healthcare collapsed under its own bulk, his company rose above all others. Technicians and investors sacrificed so much in those early days. He had been biding his time, quietly setting up new firms first in US neighbors thanks to trade agreements and then in select European countries. When a whistle-blower called monopoly, he divied up the company shares between a few trusted associates who continued reporting to him and asking for his guidance. After everything he had done and worked for, some charlatan thinks that he can pass off his "artiforg" snake-oil as comparable in quality, even superior?

He looked over at the meager portions he was given by his chef at the instruction of his physician. His health was manageable for now, but it meant abstaining from so many pleasures and indulgences. He could even hope to live another five years with good luck, plenty of time to find a new heir to his company unless, by some miracle, his children became worthy of their family name. He looked at the array of pills next to the peaches, amused because his chef was so pathologically meticulous that she found it necessary to add flair and presentation to the pills. He'd better start eating before everything got cold and unpalatable.

Because he always took his time with each meal, he finished moments before the receptionist called him over the intercom. "Vultures outside, Mr. Largo," she said furtively.

Just as he had expected, someone brutishly rattled the doorknob. "Pops, you in there?" It was his oldest, calling out in a nasal voice that irritated him to no end. He couldn't remember anyone on his side of the family sounding like that.

"Daddy, come on!" whined his daughter when he didn't answer. "Can't we come in too?"

With a sigh, he pushed a button to unlock the doors. In came his three children followed closely by two guards who took their positions at the entry. He cringed disdainfully to see his second son wearing yet another woman's face. "What is it that can't wait another five minutes?"

While the younger two fell into the plush couch and chaise lounge, his oldest stayed on his feet to saunter toward the oaken desk. Rotti Largo's disdain grew because his son's mannerism and smile all indicated that he found something out and thought himself very damn clever to mention; Luigi seemed to think that he was often more clever than his father, a notion rarely supported by most situations. "Pops, I just want you to know that how proud I am of our family, and that I can't wait for when I'll take charge of things." Despite his best efforts, his children found out about how sick he was. "Besides, isn't the oldest usually the smartest?"

"Get to the point," he growled, his cheek twitching.

Even as an invalid, he inspired fear. Luigi's bravado deflated slightly, but he kept his smile. "I'm sure you know all about the new company opening its door in America." His tone expected a no.

"I read about it this morning."

For some reason, that didn't deter him. "Then I bet you know all about a few new buys." His eyes gleamed with the peculiar light that always came when he watched pseudo-snuff films.

Rotti guarded himself well. "I suppose you know everything about it too." He gestured vaguely. "Prove it."

Luigi couldn't outcompete his father in most verbal fencing matches because he didn't know how to pick his battles. In spite of this, he knew when his father was bluffing. "I don't want to insult my dear old Dad by saying any of this," he began, turning away. "But I guess you heard what they bought."

"Maybe you'd learn how to have a conversation if you couldn't use your tongue, like you did with the last tramp you brought up here."

He whirled around, one hand waving a vindictive finger and the other reaching for his ivory-handled knife. "She said that my-"

Rotti's steely glare invited his son to dare consider murder. The younger siblings, who had only begun paying attention moments before the outburst, froze. Despite all being eager to inherit the company, they were convinced that their father would come back from the grave to haunt them if any tried to kill him. His will hadn't been finalized either, plus they couldn't compete forever over who go to do what. He was the only person who could control them, and the company would go down in flames without him as their peacekeeeper.

Luigi's blood ran cold as he extinguished the flame of his fury. After pacing around to collect himself, he gained back the bravado which was now tempered with sobriety. "Then you know who bought those slices of GeneCo." He jumped back as soon as the words left his mouth, the grin suddenly widening.

The desk lurched from Rotti jumping to his feet, so incensed that he dropped his bluff and bellowed, "Who authorized this?"

"Papa, they are their own!" chimed second son from his couch, for once putting down his mirror. He finished speaking just as his brother snapped, "Pavi, shut the fuck up."

"You idiots! I told you to stop any acquisitions!" Rotti arched over his desk like a lion. "And you can't even do that much?"

"But Daddy, we tried!" His daughter jumped off the chaise, wearing her trademark moue with the hope that it'd abate his anger.

"None of you tried hard enough!" He slammed his fist on the desk so hard that his first bruised, but he ignored the pain. "How long have you known!" Before any of his children had a chance to speak so they could bargain or cajole, he added, "Tell me or I'll cut off every cent of your allowances!"

Luigi was so nervous that his response sounded like a mewl. "Just this morning, honest, Pops!" Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he pulled out the rolled-up report. "There ya go!"

Snatching the report, his eyes marched along each line. His rage grew with each paragraph finding that someone at those companies had pulled the wool over his eyes and expected him to be none the wiser. By the end of the report, he was seething. "You bring me this expecting a reward? You think I'll give you my chair now?" While the trio stared dumbstruck, he emerged from behind his desk with the unusual agility that his body still possessed. "You think that you can win at a game when you don't even bother to learn the rules?" None could offer a response, and he was quickly losing his patience. "Get out, all of you. It's your fault I'm so sick as it is."

The younger two backed away while Luigi lingered for a moment before joining them. When he got to the door, Pavi opened his mouth to speak while he still had the opportunity. His father snapped at him to leave before he could utter a word.

Rotti felt his blood pressure decrease considerably once they left. He pushed the intercom button on his desk. "Find out more about The Union. I want to speak with a few of their representatives."


	2. Albumin Inc

In the corporate and architectural worlds, Albumin Inc. was well-known for the manicured garden atop its headquartered building. Joseph Ward, wringing his hands, glanced often at the glass dome enclosing the area. Overhead, white clouds moseyed through the blue. Though much younger than GeneCo's founder, he had been an investor from the early days. Knowing how Rotti would have reacted to the news, he imagined fearfully how this meeting would go. With luck, their friendship and partnership would stop restrain his most foul behavior.

The tapping of Rotti's cane announced his entrance into the garden. Joseph sprung to his feet, straightening and mustering his courage. The countenance didn't waver at the sight of Rotti's indignation. "How long have we known each other?" Unlike his children, Rotti had immense respect because-unlike his children-Joseph did not give into temptations or give ground easily. "Twenty-five years? All this time, and you don't use a single one of your own products. I think that I have always admired you for that trait."

While many other employees got collagen injections and rounds of elective surgery, Joseph had stayed comfortable with his own skin and allowed it to wrinkle gently with age and wear. That was his fashion statement. "I know you're upset about the acquisition, Rotti. You terrified my secretary."

He smiled with the hope of saving face for that gaff. "She is a very charming girl. Tell her as an apology, I will pay out of pocket for her next surgery."

Producing the folder which had been tucked under his arm, he revealed the documents inside. "Have a look at this. Patents in Germany, Switzerland, and Japan for a dozen new parts. A new polymer, a new cooling system, and even a completely new surgical procedure. This is a good product. It mimics true organs better than anything else."

"Why buy a machine?" He wasn't an engineer and thus could understand half of each schematic he saw. "People can buy the real thing with a smaller chance of rejection, and that was something GeneCo pioneered. What makes this thing any better?"

Joseph furrowed his brow earnestly. "You don't even realize how much you've lost in the past ten years, do you?" He flipped to another document. "I'll bet this look familiar, doesn't it?" It was the bill to repeal the organ repossession laws; without being able to take back company property, the whole sector would collapse. "I've seen the way your people terminate policies. They compromise the product." It never bothered him how barbaric the repossessions were; he cared about a job well done.

"My researchers use those organs for other purposes. Are you foolish enough to think only of transplants?" Taking the folder, he flipped back to the ArtifOrg documents. "This will not last. You remove the device from one person and put it in another, you risk infection. The dead can only pay once." GeneCo lost thousands on each client that died in between payments; not only did they lose company property, they ended up acquiring what debt was left in the contract.

"The ArtifOrg product will keep working inside or outside a client. These stand up to wear and tear of repossession much better."

Rotti eyed him carefully. "You have always believed wholly in genetics and humanity. How much did the change of heart cost?"

Joseph snarled in reply, "The Union doesn't own a single piece of this body. How dare you insinuate that I could be bought off that easily." He was always unusual in his lack of surgical scars, unlike many of Rotti's other associates. "They have good products, but they've gone in the wrong direction. The future is a marriage of the organic and the inorganic. GeneCo and Union. I'm just a part of that. Maybe if we put the two together, we can more sophisticated robots."

"That shall not pass in my lifetime."

"But what about after?" He knew very few details about Rotti's health, like the heads of the other companies. But as a close friend, he saw the ominous changes in behavior and manner. "It's been long enough. Let her go. Even gods can die of heartbreak."

"She should have never left," he growled. "After everything I did for her."

Joseph's watch announced that his board meeting would start in fifteen minutes. "You are welcome to join me as a guest. I'm afraid that I cannot let you voice much of an opinion anymore."

Rotti wouldn't let them see him stripped and humble. "I'm quite busy, thank you."

He had expected as much. "You should consider moving GeneCo's headquarters to a smaller city, like somewhere in Florida or Louisiana. Could do well from the change." When Rotti replied with silence, he sighed. "I will keep my eyes on this bill. In the meantime, put that damn reaper of yours on a tighter leash. He's the worst of the lot. I can only imagine what Hell on Earth he came from." Walking away, Joseph Ward swore he heard a gun being loaded. When he looked back, all he saw was Rotti concerning himself with a case of pills. They were friends for now, but he wondered how long it'd be until the lion grew too hungry.


	3. A New Coworker

Although it was noon, the sun barely pierced the city's haze. This would have been a serious problem and a huge health risk to many places, but the people milling around GeneCo's headquarters where surgery was a short walk away did not seem to mind. There was plenty people could do to improve lung function if the air became a problem. The haze was an unfortunate byproduct of other industries in the city.

A man, slightly bent, came through the doors into the office where Rotti had been waiting. His drab clothes and glasses made him appear mostly harmless. Upon halting before the desk, he straightened. "You wanted to see me."

"Thank you for coming." Keeping his seat, Rotti passed a folder across the desk. "I have some new orders."

He watched the folder before handling it. "You could have sent them like you always do."

"Call them new procedures. And you have a new partner." He checked his watch, clearly expecting this fabled person to appear any second now.

"But I work alone." His haggard face flushed at how insulting the notion felt. He pulled the first page. "What is this new protocol? Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I understand this is all quite sudden. But you know about Proposition 586, don't you? People are very concerned about you and me. So there are changes coming to keep this bill out of law. Where would you be if it passed, Nathan?"

They both knew the answer. Medical associations were quickly closing their doors to organ repossesors, putting the doctors who installed the parts on a whole echelon above people like him. Agreeing to do that sort of dirty both nullified the Hippocratic Oath and prevent doctors for ever fully trusting someone like him with a permanent stain like that on their past. That would relegate Nathan to an ever lower occupation such as an undertaker or concierge surgeon at the whim of whoever gave him room and board. Without a steady income, he and his daughter might be living on the street or worse. One of his greatest fears was that she'd fall to the fate of so many girls, including Rotti's daughter. Urging himself to read rather than dwell on something hypothetical, he saw the new changes. "I can't carry aenesthetics. GeneCo knows all about the high incidence of abuse."

"That's why I'd never let you have it. Your partner will have that and much more. From now on, each job comes with a small pharmacy."

He read on. "'All clients must be submerged in an ice bath prior to or during repossession?'"

"If you can find nothing else. Your partner will have some of those things at hand. I suggest that you find a bathtub first. From now on, I don't want to see you doing repossessions in dirty alleyways." There were many lines about new precautions against staph infections. "From now on, fewer casualties."

A light, dim at first, grew gradually in his eyes as it dawned on him how much his job was changing. "Fewer casualties," he repeated, hardly believing his own tongue. He could go to bed with less blood on his hands each night.

"There are some parts, of course, that people simply cannot live without." His gesture encouraged Nathan to read on. "Terminate those clients and bring them here."

His heart fell. "Do they know?"

"The company is sending letters to every client as we speak." He offered an encouraging smile. "This could change the image of GeneCo for the better. Think of it, Nathan. You can rest easy each night knowing that you haven't robbed someone of a dear friend or family member without due cause."

And yet, the terrible and dark side of him protested quietly. "This is very inefficient."

Rotti watched the doors, hiding his chagrin. "You have not met your new partner. He is late."

It was a few uncomfortable moments before the doors finally opened. In strode an exacting young man, shorter than Nathan but seeming as tall because he carried himself with vigor and resolve. "This will not happen again," he said as his apology. He wore a cleanly pressed dress shirt, but Nathan recognized the slacks as part of the GeneCo-issued repo uniform. It gave him a little comfort to know that he might be working with one of his own after all.

Standing up, he gestured gallantly to both. "Robert Bruce. Nathan Wallace."

The two shook hands, the latter visibly more hesitant than the other. "Mr. Largo has told me everything. I came from another company on loan. Just recently did I get my permanent position as your whip."

Nathan merely furrowed at his brow at the phrase. "I need more time to look at this," he murmured, thumbing through more of the documents. "There are a lot of changes for me to make..."

"I think the two of you will do quite well together." He dismissed them on the grounds that they should have a little time to get to know each other as colleagues. While he owed Rotti a great deal, he always delivered on his promises and performed each job with the utmost care. The trade-off was that Nathan never got the kind of freedom he wanted, but he got freedom as a senior employee and someone who had influence within the company.

Once out of the office, Robert dropped his nearly oppressive air of professionalism. "I know you work alone and all, but humor me about meeting outside the company once or twice before we get a job. A friend of mine wrote some of these new regulations. It's my job to make certain you follow all the rules, but I'm not here to blow any whistles. The way I see it, my job's to keep Largo off your back."

The sudden change of manner took Nathan aback. He eyed the other warily but allowed him to continue.

"He's a damn son of a bitch, and those kids of his are even worse. I can barely think about what's going to happen if they inherit the company. Cuts for us right and left." It was hard to tell if he was being figurative or literal. "Just fall back on me if you're not sure. Besides, I'm one of the only people in the company who isn't scared of you."

The information didn't surprise him but it disappointed him to know that he had alienated so many people despite his high office. He had always suspected just as much with the way other repos acted around him. At times, he even relished in their fearful reverence. But it also didn't stop him from feeling very lonely. Not even his daughter could completely console him at times.

He lowered his voice. "Everyone knows why you went repo."

Nathan blanched, not in shock but in embarrassment. He set his jaw, refusing to look the other in the eye lest it compel him to tear out Robert's throat.

"Look, they all have their theories. But me?" He shrugged. "Accidents happen. Life isn't fair." Backing down the hall so they could keep eye contact, he said, "Policy says we have to meet once before a job. This counts, but I expect to hear from you before Largo. If you can't make good on that promise, this won't be a good partnership." He gave a sloppy salute before turning around. In a few moments, he disappeared from sight around the corner.

Staring at the folder in his hand, Nathan trudged toward the elevator. He only hoped that the monster inside him could be sated in this new, strange way.


	4. Hibachi Express

Robert Bruce was a lean man, but he seemed to eat like bird: three times his weight each day. Nathan watched him daintily plucked up as little as a few grains of sauce-soaked rice, but he diligently had tucked away a good third of the giant food mound he had ordered. He ate with the neatness and precision of a skilled surgeon. "Not hungry?"

Nathan, on the other hand, had shoveled a few bites of seared meat in his mouth with a plastic fork before getting distracted by studying his new colleague. "Just taking my time." To show that he wasn't lying, he swallowed a few more bites.

"If you don't want it, I could probably take it. I have this terrible habit on eating tiny meals throughout the day, so then when I get food like this, I just can't help eating it all. Sometimes I make myself sick."

Nathan merely hummed in reply. He turned to the big window at his elbow, the rain dancing on the night street. A young girl walked by, about his daughter's age and even looking a little like her. She didn't have the deadened eyes of an addict, making him breathe a little easy. His girl was safe at home and in no danger of ever becoming a junkie.

"So, you got hobbies?" His thin eyebrow arched sharply up in genuine curiosity.

"Sorry?"

"You know, hobbies. The stuff you do when you're not at work." He dabbed his chin with a paper napkin. "They don't really list any of that stuff in your personnel file. Not that they would." A bashful smile. "I guess you could call that one of my hobby. I do a lot of snooping, you know? Checking out my coworkers. I got a friend in that department and he lets me look at the records. Can't see medical records because that's another department, but he lets see other things. You know, résumés and census data."

At this, Nathan bristled. He kept his eyes directed away from Robert. "So what does it say about me," he asked coldly.

"Well." He set down his chopsticks. "It talks about where you graduated from, marriage status, work history. A little on family. Whether or not you have company insurance. Info from your state-issued license. Also some other papers that I didn't look at like records on your time with the company and how much you're getting paid. I don't really care about payroll."

"Yes. What does it say."

"Well, says you're a widower and you got one kid, a girl. You use company insurance, your 20-year benefits kicked in a couple years ago, you started out in Research before getting transferred to—" he coughed politely "—uh, Finance, and you've never been disciplined in the company. You're a model employee who gets the job done and has never been a problem for management." Actually, there were a few incidents mentioned in the file.

Nathan relaxed and met his gaze, a trace of a smile coming to his lips. "You don't know me as well as you think." There was no way that the guy had read the file, or he would've known about those incidents.

"Um. Well, except for a few times when you refused to do a repo…."

His eyes went steely.

"Listen. I don't work with anyone without knowing something about them first, so get used to it." He picked up his chopsticks without breaking eye contact. "And while you're thinking about killing me because you're so pissed off, just remember that I'm here to help you. Kill me, and you're gonna be left to deal with Rotti all on your own. You don't know want that. No one wants that."

At this, he looked back to the window.

Robert looked back at his food. "So. You got hobbies or what?"

Nathan didn't answer.

"Oh Christ." He threw down his chopsticks. "Don't give me the silent treatment here, okay? I'm sorry for making you mad. If it helps, I promise not to look at your file."

He looked over, face softening a little. "You promise?"

Robert held up his right hand. "I promise. You have my word, and I always make good on my word. I'll never look at your file again without your permission, so help me God. Now." He was eager to make short work of his dinner. "Hobbies. You got them or what?" 

The rain sounded calming against the pavement outside. He stared down at his plate.

"Well?" Robert's face grew anxious. "Come on. Please tell me you have some hobbies. You do something other than work. You gotta do something other than work."

Nathan sighed, pain crossing his face. He realized that it had been a very long time since he'd really socialized much with a colleague in a friendly, casual capacity. He had always been distant and professional with colleagues, or he talked with his daughter. This was something he had never been too skilled with, and now he felt almost totally inept. "Yes. I have hobbies."

"Okay, that's great." He relaxed considerably. "Good. So what sort of hobbies you have? What's something that you like?"

"Opera." He had an extensive collection, and he organized the works and composers by moods or functions. There was music for work, for leisure, for catharsis, for calmness, and for all the other things that he thought of. He was actually rather proud of the collection and looked forward to passing it onto Shilo one day.

"Hey! That's great! Never a big opera fan myself, but it works for you, and that's the important thing, isn't it? So what else you like?"

The corners of his mouth twitched in contemplation. After a few moments, he said, "Drugs."

"Great! That's good too. What sort of drugs you like? Oh wait." He lowered his voice. "You're not into sedatives and downers, right?"

"Only if it's a sleeping pill." He knew what Robert was really asking: was he a Zydrate addict.

"Then that's great. This is really good. What do you like?"

"Ecstasy," There were days when the depression was all-consuming and overpowering, when he hadn't slept the night before because he ran out of sleeping pills and he could barely get out of bed for anything, even his little girl. He'd take half a tablet to remind himself what it felt like to be happy.

"Fantastic! Isn't this fun? Getting to know each other and stuff? It's good to know the person you're working with, y'know? Bonding with people. It's great." He already had sparrow-like features, but the way he cocked his head so he could both Nathan and his plate in the periphery seemed to create the spitting image of a songbird. It was the way he seemed to mince about in conversation and his quick, flighty gestures. "So you've been repo for a long time now. We can talk shop now, how about that? What do you think of those new regs? Big pain in the ass, huh?"

"Hm." He nibbled at a little more of his meal. "To some people, I guess."

"And what about to you?" Robert accidentally caught a woman's eye and he played if off by flashing a flirtatious grin. He was glad that she scowled and turned away; she was too old for his taste.

Nathan dropped his plastic fork, leaning back in his chair to squarely meet his colleague's eyes. He yanked off his glasses, knowing how his glasses tended to dampen the intensity of his expression. Jaw set tight and eyes riveted, he spoke in a hushed tone. "I take no joy in my job. I used to help people. What do I do now?" He shook his head. "I want to sleep better at night. I don't care what anyone thinks, not Rotti and not you and not anyone else. I'm tired of hating myself." Suddenly, Nathan looked away, hot with shame. He quickly replaced the glasses on his face. Things he had been thinking for months, maybe even years, came rushing out of his mouth. Things he had never said to another human being. Why on earth was he letting this man know anything about him?

"Hm." It was a little hard finding the words to follow a sentiment like that. "I like them. I worked the technical side of things, the installations. Not a real doctor, physician's assistant with some experience doing surgery and stuff. Got to learn about drugs and some of the pharmacy side of things. Drugs can be a lot of fun." His lips twitched into a wry, almost joyless, smile. "You like having fun, don't you?"

"Yes." He was starting to get a little tired of this conversation. It wasn't that he was getting bored; the conversation was emotionally taxing.

"Tell me some of the other stuff you do—" Their watches went off. They were officially on the clock now, and already they had their first 'patient' in the area. "Tell me some of the other stuff you do at another time. I still want to hear it."

They slipped through the back way of the restaurant to the alley where they had parked their black covered truck. Unlike every other vehicle owned by GeneCo, this had no signage of any kind. In fact, it was company policy to repaint the repo trucks a new color every few months. And since the rotation on the painting was slow, only meticulous members of the public could track the change.

Robert reached for the driver's side door.

"No." He sounded the way a leader should. Commanding, even just a little imperious. "I drive. I always drive."

The hair on Robert's neck pricked up just a little. He handed over the keys.

"You're my whip. I say what goes." He climbed into the truck, opening the passenger-side door. "We suit up and do an inventory when we get there. Now give me the address."

A small shiver ran down Robert's back. "You got it, boss."


End file.
